


Nights are long -

by alexanger



Series: Bold and young [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Communication, Not a lot of sex in this one sorry, Other, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 20:58:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7948933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanger/pseuds/alexanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Jefferson?” the voice on the phone says. “Thomas Jefferson, right?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” he replies, his voice sharp with uncertainty.</p>
<p>“And you know Alex. Alexander Hamilton.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t answer. Instead, he asks, “how did you get this number?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nights are long -

Six months.

Six months of meeting and fucking and anger and aggression. They’ve been doing this for years but there’s something foreign in it now - there’s an element of desperation, a hint of fear. Hamilton is a wounded animal. Jefferson is a lion.

They come together like continents colliding. They come together like beasts following the scent of blood. Hamilton bleeds freely - he gives himself to Jefferson, sacrifices himself like a lamb for the slaughter. Jefferson devours his vulnerability and never, never stops hungering for more.

They push further than they ever dared to imagine they would. Jefferson surprises himself every time - first with his cruelty, then with his tenderness. It’s not unusual for Hamilton to cry during sex; it  _ is  _ unusual for him to cry after. Or at least, it used to be. These days it’s become far too common.

Here’s how it happens:

Hamilton texts. It doesn’t matter what he says. He sends something irreverent, usually - something intended to incense, to inflame, and Jefferson takes the bait without fail. It’s annoying enough that by the time Hamilton arrives, Jefferson is usually naked and hard and aching.

He makes sure it hurts.

He makes sure Hamilton suffers -

But maybe Hamilton is doing enough of that without his help.

 

* * *

 

This time he sends three letters -  _ dtf? _

_ Get over here, _ Jefferson texts back, and that’s all. Hamilton must have been downstairs, because the intercom buzzes almost immediately. Even the few minutes it takes between that buzz and the knock on the door is far too much time.

They crash together, lips seeking the tender points; Hamilton gets his teeth on Jefferson’s bare shoulder and sinks them in until his jaw aches. The skin doesn’t break, but the yield is disconcerting. Jefferson slams him against the wall, tears his clothes off, and sucks-bites-gnaws livid bruises into his chest, his stomach, his hips, his thighs; he can feel Hamilton shuddering and struggling for air beneath him.

Jefferson trails back up his body, bites his nipples, sinks his teeth into the skin of his throat. “I’m going to destroy you,” he whispers against Hamilton’s neck; he can feel the pulse of his jugular and the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

He wasn’t prepared for how true that would ring.

Hamilton keens and arches his back, struggling to stay upright - the pain is bad today, he leans heavily on his cane - so Jefferson swats his thigh and says, “bedroom.” It takes Hamilton longer than usual, cane thumping hard on the wood floor, but he manages alright.

“I’m going to go easy on you tonight,” Jefferson says, “and then I’ll massage your hips and your legs, try and work some of that tension out.”

“No,” Hamilton says. There’s a strange edge in his voice.

“Excuse me?” Jefferson says. It isn’t a reprimand - he’s uncertain, afraid of what Hamilton is really saying.

“Don’t go easy on me. I need to feel it.”

There’s something there, that  _ need _ rather than  _ want, _ that makes Jefferson pause. “Are you in the right space to consent?” he asks, fixing Hamilton with his no-nonsense stare.

“I’m not a child,” Hamilton says. “Don’t talk to me like one.”

“I want to make sure you’re  _ safe, _ Alex.”

That’s when the dam breaks and Hamilton starts to weep openly. “Can we please just fuck?” he says, his voice raw and cracked.

He knows this is a soft place that Hamilton protects. He  _ knows  _ there’s something here that shouldn’t see the light of day, especially not in his presence. But he seeks softness - he can’t help it, there’s something snarling and bestial inside him that wants to seek that softness and sink in teeth and tear, and if he’s aiming to hurt, if Hamilton wants to hurt, what better place to tear than there?

Jefferson follows the scent of blood. Every predator knows it’s easier to catch an animal already sick or wounded. 

He kneels on the bed, leaning over Hamilton. His height, the broad muscle of his shoulders and chest - these give him an advantage, not only in strength but in intimidation.

There are two ways to move forward. Hamilton is cowering underneath him, both terrified and ravenous, and he could pull back now - Hamilton wouldn’t have the heart to protest. Jefferson could be gentle; they could be soft together, soothing the jagged edges, wearing away the pain with gentle movements and whispers of reassurance. Or they could -

Jefferson wraps his fingers around Hamilton’s throat, squeezes, pulls forward. Hamilton makes a strangled noise and struggles for air.

So he decides.

He releases his throat and rakes his nails down Hamilton’s body, digging them in and leaving long, livid trails. The sensation doesn’t seem to hit fully; Hamilton lays prone, making only the softest noise in reply.

There’s a burst of fury, raw and pulsing in Jefferson’s chest. He feels cheated. There’s an  _ understanding _ between them: He hurts, Hamilton suffers. For every motion there’s some sort of response, and that’s just the way it is. Why bother if the response is a tiny shiver or a whispered moan?

So he chases the response. He claws and bites at the softer parts of Hamilton’s body, his belly, the insides of his thighs, the unprotected skin of his throat, and he doesn’t stop until there’s a jerk or shudder or groan in response. Tears stream down Hamilton’s face unchecked and unabating.

Jefferson takes him ferociously, claiming his mate after battle. Hamilton is battered and bruised, covered in scratches and welts, and he begs for more as Jefferson fucks him. “I can take it,” he whispers as Jefferson jacks him. “I want to feel it.”

“You’re not feeling this,” Jefferson tells him, “whatever’s going on for you, you aren’t feeling it. I’m not wasting my time hitting you if you aren’t even going to notice. You’re a waste of my time, hole. You can’t even be bothered to fake it for me. Why am I doing this if neither of us are getting what we want?”

“Make it hurt more,” Hamilton says, pleading.

Jefferson grits his teeth and turns his face away and fucks until he’s done. Hamilton doesn’t finish; he can’t seem to get all the way hard, and it isn’t worth the time or the effort anymore.

He cleans Hamilton up instead, until his hands are shoved away; and then he tosses away the washcloth in a fit of resentment and anger, and throws himself down on the bed instead.

“Sorry,” Hamilton says into the stillness. “I just - don’t deserve that from you.”

“Maybe you don’t deserve any of this from me,” Jefferson says. It’s half-baiting but there’s truth in it, too.

“Maybe I don’t,” Hamilton agrees.

The void between them widens; they lay stiffly side by side, Jefferson tense and on edge, Hamilton apathetic and cold. Finally Jefferson reaches out and wraps around Hamilton, pressing soft kisses behind his ear.

“I need your help,” Hamilton says softly.

“Anything,” Jefferson says, without hesitation.

“I lied to you.”

“About?” He’s still now, stiff and anxious. He doesn’t want to hear it. He needs to hear it.

“Eliza doesn’t know about this.”

The name  _ Eliza _ drifts through Jefferson’s mind and bumps up against  _ girlfriend _ and then he’s sitting upright and shaking. “So you’re cheating on her, with me, and you didn’t even think it was important enough to mention that?”

“I knew you’d get upset -” Hamilton sits up too and puts his hands up in front of his chest in defense. Jefferson raises a hand, and in the instant before he puts it on his own forehead, he sees Hamilton jerk away, sees fear blossom in the stormy grey eyes.

Hamilton is  _ afraid _ of him.

“Get out,” Jefferson says, suddenly exhausted. “Don’t text me anymore. We’re through.”

“Can we just talk -”

“I’m not fucking around, Hamilton. Get dressed, get out of my apartment, don’t text me again.”

The apartment is silent after Hamilton leaves. Jefferson allows himself fifteen minutes to be upset; and then he carefully makes the bed, disposes of the washcloth tainted with Hamilton’s blood, and settles himself on his couch, arranging his face into a perfectly calculated expression of boredom.

It doesn’t matter if there’s no one around to see it.

 

* * *

 

His phone rings after a week of silence. His personal phone, not his work phone. It’s a number he doesn’t recognize.

He picks up and says, “Jefferson. What do you need?”

“Jefferson?” the voice on the other end says. “Thomas Jefferson, right?”

“Yes,” he replies, his voice sharp with uncertainty.

“And you know Alex. Alexander Hamilton.”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he asks, “how did you get this number?”

“I stole his phone,” she says. “I know that sounds bad, but he told me about - you know - and I had to speak to you. I want to know what kind of person you are. Can we meet?”

“Who are you?”

“Sorry - I should have started with that, I just - I’ve never done this before - not just the call, all of this, no one’s ever treated me like - that’s not the point - I’m Eliza. Schuyler. Elizabeth, really, but he calls me - that doesn’t matter. Can we meet, please? I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t important - I imagine you must also be very upset -”

Jefferson takes a deep breath. He wanted, so badly, to pretend this woman wasn’t part of the picture - that she didn’t exist, that Alex had made her up to get out of the relationship without taking responsibility for a breakup; but she has a  _ voice _ , now, a soft, calm voice full of hurt and bewilderment, and he wants to comfort her.

It’s the least he can do, after hurting her - boyfriend? Ex?

Her Alex.

“Okay,” he hears himself say. “There’s a cafe near my building that’s usually pretty quiet. I’ll text you the address. When do you want to meet?”

“Right now, if that’s good for you.”

“Well I was sort of in the middle of -” He scrambles to think of something. “Of some reports. For work. Work reports.”

“No, you weren’t. I know what a lie sounds like. I’ll see you in an hour, Mr Jefferson.”

“Thomas is fine,” he replies, but the line is already dead.

 

* * *

 

She’s soft and gentle in her actions, too, not just her voice. There’s something reassuring about her, something very much like pondwater or a tide pool - cool, calm, level, controlled. She has neat borders and contains herself within them, content to be nothing more or less than what she is. Jefferson can’t help but admire that.

Eliza orders herself tea and then allows Jefferson to pay, and he doesn’t even notice that she’s done it until he’s handing over the cash - and in that moment, he suddenly realizes that Elizabeth Schuyler is someone he absolutely does  _ not _ want to fuck with.

He almost pities Hamilton.

She takes her time getting settled when they sit down. She tucks both feet up, sitting cross-legged on her chair, nestling in her oversized hoodie like it’s a safety blanket, and then she wraps both hands around her steaming tea and says, “so I hear you and Alex have had - an interesting relationship.”

Jefferson prickles a little but holds himself together. “If you could even call it a relationship,” he says. It’s evasive.

“You met for sex, repeatedly, you talked about feelings, you had moments of intense vulnerability, you helped each other at difficult points in your lives - believe me, I’ve heard all about it - but you’ve also hurt him, quite badly, and he’s hurt you, just as badly. You did physical damage, he did emotional damage. Six of one, half a dozen of the other - either way, you did some messed up stuff.” She punctuates this by taking a sip of her tea and pulling a face. “Wow, that’s hot.”

“I never gave him anything he didn’t ask for,” Jefferson insists.

“I work with children and I’m going to tell you something. Kids ask for a  _ lot _ of things,” Eliza says. “They ask for sweets, constantly. They ask to do things, dangerous things, like driving a car or, I don’t know, gambling. They get into trouble, they pick up the shit you leave lying around, and you know what happens if you give them everything they ask for? They can get very, very hurt. They aren’t old enough to recognize the risks inherent in those actions. They don’t have the kind of reasoning skills needed to be able to consent to certain things - that’s why there’s laws about age restrictions on gambling, on smoking, on drinking.”

“Are you implying Hamilton is a child?” Jefferson asks, trying to smile.

“No,” says Eliza, “I’m implying he was not in a sound state of mind. Surely you must have noticed that.”

“I’m not going to take full responsibility for this -”

“No, nor should you. He made terrible choices when he knew better. But he’s also very sick, and he needs help -” She breaks off and averts her eyes, and, far more softly, she repeats, “he needs help.”

Jefferson reaches out and touches her hand. She draws it away, starting a little, and then takes his hand and squeezes. “I’m sorry for the part I played in this,” he says. It’s the first time in years he’s apologized for anything.

Eliza smiles at him, and there’s hurt in her eyes - but there’s confidence, too, and forgiveness. “Thank you very much, Thomas,” she says. “I may not agree with what you and Alex do together, but I can understand that you give him something he needs, something I can’t provide.”

“Are you two still -” Jefferson flounders, and then adds, “hang on, do you mean the gay thing or the pain thing?”

“Neither,” Eliza says. “I’m referring to you egging him on when he needs to be held back. Use your judgement, Thomas. You seem like a very clever man.”

“I - thank you?”

“And yes, in response to your question, we are still together. I was considering ending things, but I knew I had to meet you first - and now that I see what kind of person you are, I really don’t think I have the heart to - you care very deeply for him, don’t you?”

“No,” Jefferson says.

“Yes, you do,” Eliza says.

“Yes,” Jefferson agrees, “I do.”

They sit in companionable silence for a moment; Eliza blows on her tea and takes a sip, and this time there’s no grimace.

“There’s something very sick in you too, isn’t there?” she asks suddenly. “Not in the way you’re assuming I mean - I  _ know  _ about kinks, that part’s fine - don’t give me that look. You need something.”

“No,” Jefferson says, but he knows he’s lying.

“Yes, you do,” Eliza tells him, for the second time. She stands and pushes her chair neatly under the table. “When you figure out what it is, text me. I can help with that.”

“You just met me.” Jefferson can’t quite follow the thread of what she’s saying, and it shows in his voice - there’s a hesitant hiccup where there should only be his usual sharp growl.

“All the better reason to have this conversation now, don’t you think? There aren’t any barriers yet. And you’d better not throw any up, especially if you’re seeing my boyfriend. This will work if we communicate, alright?” She leans over, takes his hand for a moment, and gives it an encouraging squeeze. “Don’t be a stranger.”

And then she’s gone, out the door and away before he can fully comprehend what just happened.

He suddenly realizes he never asked if  _ she  _ needed anything.

 

* * *

 

“Alex?” Eliza calls as she comes through the door.

There’s no response, not in words, but there’s a grunt from the armchair in the corner of the living room. She turns on a light and immediately Alex protests, “turn that off, it’s hurting my eyes.”

“You don’t need to sit here dramatically in the dark,” she tells him. “You’re not an anime villain, you’re just having a shitty time.”

He absorbs this. “Where were you?” he asks.

“I met Thomas.”

“No,” Alex says, and then he repeats it as if it will change the past. “No, no - no no no no no. No.”

“Yes,” Eliza tells him.

“And what did you say to him -”

“I gave him my blessing,” Eliza says, “although I don’t think he picked up on that. So if you want to fuck him, you go ahead and fuck him, but you’re going to talk to me first.”

“Oh. I -”

“And talking about it is not negotiable, because you’ve been really messed up lately and I don’t think it’s healthy for you the way you’re doing it.”

“Probably not,” Alex admits.

“What do you do with him?” she asks, settling on the floor in front of his armchair.

He takes a deep breath, and then words pour out like a flood. He talks about the pain, about the restraints, about the way Jefferson hits him, strangles him, whips him, canes him; he talks about spiked paddles and sounds, and the way it feels when his skin opens and everything awful drips out in his blood. He talks about the way it feels to soar right out of his mind into a space where he’s nothing, where the things he does don’t matter, where he can admit that he’s useless and small and inferior and that’s  _ okay. _

It’s hard, so hard, to be strong and make the decisions he has to make. It’s hard to know that every motion ripples out and affects real human lives. So when he’s there, in Jefferson’s arms, and Jefferson calls him worthless, tells him he’s an empty hole -

“Stop,” Eliza says.

Alex shuts his mouth, puzzled.

“Say that last part again.”

“I’m a hole,” he says, and there’s a deep ache in his chest.

“What makes you a hole?” she asks.

“I can’t - I’m never satisfied. I will  _ never _ be satisfied. Jefferson sees it - he sees the emptiness - it’s never enough, nothing is ever enough -”

She puts her hand on his chest and the pressure hits right where it hurts.

“Then that’s where we’ll start,” she says.

He looks into her eyes and sees a lifeline.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos make me tea when i'm too lazy to get up and do that. chat to me at [alexangery.tumblr.com](http://alexangery.tumblr.com)


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